


nighttime blues

by meddik



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Paranoia, Sleepy Cuddles, basically an excuse to write sleepy scout and cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:55:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25889188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meddik/pseuds/meddik
Summary: This wouldn’t be a first for him – before all of this, when he still made a living as a big game hunter in the outbacks of Australia, there was no shortage of wild, feral animals making their way to him and his parents’ home and posing a threat. Sniper’s trained in that way, sensitive to sound, can tell apart a crocodile from an alligator from hearing them chittering a mile off.Sometimes it’s a blessing. Other times, it’s just annoying.(or; Sniper hears something weird. He thinks. He's pretty sure.)
Relationships: Scout/Sniper (Team Fortress 2)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 89





	nighttime blues

**Author's Note:**

> a little bit of something to tide me over before I do something really stupid and write something chaptered. Or something.
> 
> anyways. Enjoy!

“Shit,” Sniper hisses, jolting up from bed.

What the fuck was that sound?

He strains again to hear it, above the howling, swirling desert wind outside. It’d been some sort of ringing noise, like the ones you get when you shoot a gun and your ear’s too close to the frame, which is every day of work for Sniper – it sounds distant this time, though, like a car or a train approaching, getting ever closer. Who found them?

Sniper tenses when something brushes against the skin of his forearm, and loosens only slightly when he realises it’s just Scout’s hand. Shit, he woke him up.

“Hrmmmmfrmfm?” comes the younger man’s drowsy voice. His hand drifts down Sniper’s forearm, and pools limply on Sniper’s own hand. He’s warm, like he always is, and Sniper wonders how he isn’t flinching away from how cold his own hand is – he’s never been accustomed to freezing nights out in the desert (how does that work, even?) “Snipes? What’s’a matter?”

Nothing, go back to sleep, Sniper wants to say, but if it’s a legitimate threat he’d be doing both of them a disservice. The entire base, in fact. He quiets his breathing, listens closely. There!

“Y’hear that?” Sniper asks, voice a mite above a whisper so Scout can hear. The ringing sounds closer now, and Sniper wracks his brain for possibilities – the closest town is miles away, and who’d come driving out here? It could be the BLU team, but they’ve got a Spy of their own, and surely for a bunch of dunderheads they’d have the good sense to try and sneak up on them unnoticed?

Scout anchors himself on Sniper’s arm and draws up to sit, rubbing at his eyes. A brief silence passes, and the Bostonian frowns.

“I’on hear nothin’, man.”

“Shh,” Sniper says. “Listen close.”

Scout raises a brow, but he obliges nonetheless. Quiet blankets them, Sniper straining to hear, and Scout straining to not fall asleep sitting up. It takes a few minutes, but above the muted sound of Scout absently itching his pec, Sniper hears it again. Ringing, whistling.

“That’s it,” he decides, peeling the blankets off himself (ever since Scout started joining him, they started using two blankets, both thin as gossamer.) “Somethin’s out there.”

He makes to swing his legs over the bunk, and is stopped short of doing so by Scout’s hand finding his arm again and weakly tugging.

“Snipes,” he starts, a pleading note in his sleep-hoarse voice, “I’on hear anythin’. There’s nothin’ out there.”

The doubt sinks in. What if, though? He’s just being jumpy. He’s being paranoid and it’s really nothing, just a trick of his ears, damaged from all the shooting and screaming. It’s a possibility, but someone infiltrating base is also a possibility, and ultimately the latter wins out. If he ignores it, and there is some BLU team wanker sneaking around, he’d be as good as condemning them all.

“I–I just– I’m just gonna have a little look-see.” At the sound of Scout’s dramatic whine into the pillow, Sniper lightens a bit, gives a quiet laugh and pats Scout’s hand on his arm. “Y’can go back t’sleep, roo.”

“Mmmmnah.” The bunk rustles and creaks as Scout sits back up and drags himself towards the ladder, where Sniper’s poised. Sleepily, he deposits his chin on Sniper’s shoulder and for a moment looks like he’s fallen right back to sleep. “‘m comin’ with. Jus’ in case.”

Something like relief settles in Sniper’s belly. “Just in case.”

He checks the windows first, peers out, and squints to make out the shape of any intruders amidst the inky blackness of night. When nothing becomes immediately clear to him, he pads outside the camper with his rifle, Scout trailing close with his bat in hand, and searches the grounds again through his scope. This wouldn’t be a first for him – before all of this, when he still made a living as a big game hunter in the outbacks of Australia, there was no shortage of wild, feral animals making their way to him and his parents’ farmhome and posing a threat. Sniper’s trained in that way, sensitive to sound, can tell apart a crocodile from an alligator from hearing them chittering a mile off.

Sometimes it’s a blessing. Other times, it’s just annoying.

This time, it's shaping up to be a latter. Sniper’s done picking out every crevice and nook through his scope, has failed to come up with anything incriminating. Scout’s already wandered back into the camper at some point, and when Sniper relents defeat, he trudges after him.

He sees the younger man already back on the bunk, sitting cross-legged and watching Sniper through half-lidded eyes.

“Find anythin’?” Scout yawns, though his tone isn’t jeering. He jams a hand up his shirt and starts scratching at his chest again. Sniper sighs, leans his rifle up against the kitchen counter, takes some time to splash his face with cold water.

“Nah.” He wipes his hands down his sweatpants and heads for the bunk. “Guess I was jus’ bein’ jumpy.”

“It happens. Y’know, comes wit’ the line of work.” Scout yawns again. “What time’s it anyway?”

Judging from the darkness outside, it can’t have reached past five yet. Sniper replies as such. They still have upwards three hours of sleep, going off that. It’s enough.

Sniper climbs up the bunk and slides into his space, hitting the pillow with a soft thump as Scout lowers himself more gently. The warmth radiating from his Bostonian bedfellow is enough to bring him back to the precipice of sleep, but it isn’t until Scout turns and his face buries into the side of Sniper’s shoulder that he realises what he really needs.

He doesn’t say it aloud, of course, he’s not some giggling schoolgirl. Scout’s an approximation of that, though.

“Cuddles?” he mumbles, arm hovering an inch above Sniper’s chest as an invitation.

Sniper laughs quietly into the night air. “Sure, love.”

He can feel Scout grin into his sleeve, as the smaller man shifts about and presses closer. In one fell swoop, Scout throws his arm fully over Sniper’s form, his other one winding behind Sniper’s neck and curling him close so his face fits nicely against the Australian’s neck. The runner slots one leg between the gunman’s and hooks around it, so that he’s effectively using the older man as some sort of bolster. He’s warm, though, and fiercely comfortable to cuddle with, so Sniper doesn’t mind. Never has.

On his part, he wraps his arm around Scout, hand resting on his shoulder. Pulls him close, cosy and plush.

They fall asleep like this, listening to the breeze outside, inside, breaths floating up in their calm, safe sphere.


End file.
